


maybe i forgot i loved you

by Windmire



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimson Flower Route, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windmire/pseuds/Windmire
Summary: "You know you can stay, right? At least for a while?""No," Felix answered, voice clipped. "I can't."Felix and Sylvain help the Empire win the war. But it's not easy to come back, even to each other, from betraying your own country.Follows Felix and Sylvain's paired ending from routes other than Blue Lions/Azure Moon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be maybe 3k words, at most.
> 
> I think I fucked up.
> 
> Extra CWs for vague suicidal thoughts/Sylvain's usual somewhat suicidal behavior.

"You know you can stay, right? At least for a while?"

"No," Felix answered, voice clipped. He didn't look back at Sylvain, instead busying himself with adjusting his sword belt. "I can't."

Sylvain let out a weak laugh. "Felix, come on. It's been _ages_ since we even saw each other. Years and years! You can at least stay one more night, right?"

One more night was all he needed. He'd take anything he could get.

Felix shook his head. "The job's done. I've got no reason to stick around."

He did lift his eyes from his swords then, turning to look at him over his shoulder. He was frowning at Sylvain, brows so furrowed that the new scar running through the left one stood out starkly.

Sylvain couldn't help but feel like Felix was looking for something in his expression. He dutifully rearranged his face into what he hoped was a cheerful enough smile and remembered, just a moment too late, that Felix probably wouldn't appreciate that.

"Seriously," he said instead, pressing whatever chance he may still have had. What did he have to lose now anyway? "I'd really love it if we could catch up some more and--"

But Felix only shook his head again. Sylvain could practically see that chance disappearing as he turned away. "Goodbye, Margrave Gautier," was all he said, the words a lance through Sylvain's heart.

He couldn't seem to find any more words as he watched him leave the entrance hall, the outline of him disappearing into the weak winter sunlight outside.

And that was the last time Sylvain saw Felix.

-

Margrave Gautier is a lonely man, is what many in Gautier would say.

He's unmarried, the last of his family's long since passed away, no friends ever visit, and in the over twenty years he's been Margrave Gautier, there hasn't even been a hint of a lover in over ten.

Sylvain, Margrave Gautier himself, would argue against it.

Because, really, seriously. He's fine. 

So he never married. So he even gave up on keeping a lover some years after taking on the title. So what? It was just... useless, in the end, when his heart just wasn't in any relationship he tried. Even less than before, that is.

Besides, ruling the whole territory, trying to prove he'd be able to do all of this even without a Crest, it's demanding work. And it's not like he never gets to talk to anyone or anything.

He's got friends! He's fine.

Visiting often or not doesn't even mean anything.

They just can't...

Well, he doesn't quite keep in contact with Bernadetta. But every month, like clockwork, a painstakingly handwritten copy of her newest manuscript arrives for him, along with a short message thanking him for his latest feedback.

She never directly acknowledges his actual thoughts on her stories, never even actually signs her name, but he still diligently writes her a long letter every month and she diligently sends him an updated copy in response.

That still makes them friends, right? She doesn't need to visit.

And it's not like he could visit her either. Even if Sreng and Gautier weren't keeping him busy, he's not actually sure _where_ she is. She never tried to take over Varley after the war was over, instead letting someone else--someone more qualified, she said, right before leaving Garreg Mach for the last time--take over there, before moving somewhere else entirely.

(And that was fine, right? That was one of the things they'd fought for, for an end to the nobility as they knew it.)

Still. They're friends.

There's the yearly letter from Dorothea, too, from all the way over in Brigid--too far away for either of them to visit anywhere near regularly. It always brightens his day though and he can only hope she feels the same when he responds. It's funny, really, reading her stories of sunny Brigid in the middle of his own frigid winters, and she says as much to him the other way around, how she can barely even imagine winters so cold from all the way over there.

Maybe someday, when he's older, greyer, ready to hand off Gautier to someone else, he'll see about actually making a visit to Brigid.

It'd be nice.

But, still. He can't visit anyone, but he _does_ get visitors. One whole visitor.

In fact, it's Marianne, of all people, who visits often.

The first time she showed up in Gautier unannounced, she stood before him in his audience room, a small and hesitant--but sincere, he could tell that much--smile aimed at him. She told him then that she was ready to make good on their promise to go out to town together, even if it was a different town in an entirely different part of the now unified country.

That was a good two years after the end of the war.

And she's bloomed over the years, gaining more and more confidence, to the point that it feels like understating it to say he's proud to be her friend.

And that's... That's three friends, right? He's lost track of most of the people he went to the Academy with so that's... That's fine. It's more than enough. Especially with Dimitri gone and Ingrid...

Oh, Ingrid.

Ever on Dimitri's side, Ingrid survived the war, but he just... never really does see her anymore. Things just aren't the same with her, since the war. She managed to keep control of Galatea, after, argued so well and for so long that even Edelgard was impressed, but... that's it.

They don't really speak anymore.

She can barely even look at him anymore, whenever they run into each other for the business of managing their territories, and every time he looks at her, his heart twists with guilt, until it feels like all he can see is _Dimitri_ in her place.

They met at the end of the war, in Enbarr, right before he set back off to Gautier for good. She spotted him first, across the path leading out of the palace, and she didn't speak, didn't even do anything beyond frown at him. But the look in her eyes, the sheer sadness there, chilled him to his core, like nothing else ever has.

Even when she turned away, disappearing into the crowd of the city, he couldn't seem to find his voice to call out for her.

So maybe that one's for the best.

-

"Margrave Gautier! Margrave Gautier!" he hears one snowy morning, before he's even reached his study for the day.

He's not entirely awake yet, so it takes a moment before he realizes just who's calling his name. By the time he does turn around, digging the heel of his palm into his closed eyelids, there's an out of breath servant nearly barreling into him.

"Margrave Gautier!" he says, stopping to catch his breath. "There's... There's a delivery for you and they're saying it's _very important_ that you go receive it. Right now. They won't leave until you do!" 

That's all Sylvain needs to hear. He doesn't get urgent messages, much less deliveries, like this unless it really is _urgent_. Trouble with Sreng, usually.

Though he can't imagine why any trouble with Sreng would involve a delivery, of all things.

The messenger's waiting for him alone in the front hall and she snaps her head up to look at him, away from the object clutched between her hands.

One look at her and Sylvain can tell she wasn't sent by one of the other noble houses. She's a stringy girl wrapped up in furs, deep dark circles under her eyes, and a sword in a battered-looking sheath at her side. "Like a stiff wind could knock her over" isn't exactly the image of strength the remaining noble houses of what was once Faerghus are trying to project nowadays.

The question, then, is just who sent her to him?

"Margrave Gautier," she says before he can speak, lowering her head in a shallow bow, then holds up her parcel with both hands. "I was under strict orders from my boss to bring this to you, if anything happened to him."

"All right," Sylvain says, wary but polite. How did he anger her boss...? "Then may I ask just who your boss is?"

Her eyes flicker away from him, back to her hands, and she holds up her parcel again. "Take a look at this," she says, pulling away the cloth covering the object to reveal a sword.

Sylvain smiles slightly, bemused. A sword? Is he getting challenged? Because it's been quite a few years since anyone even bothered to warn him about this sort of thing.

When she makes no move to explain, instead continuing to stare at him unblinkingly, he moves forward, close enough to get a better look at the sword. A little closer, just a little, and he'll be able to get a clear look at that emblem on the hilt, which is as good a place to start as any, he supposes. It's not like he's got any other clues to work with.

She holds the sword steady as he approaches, stopping only steps away from her.

And Sylvain's blood runs cold.

"That's..." His voice cracks. He swallows, tries again. "Your boss' name is..."

"Felix Hugo Fraldarius," she says, voice low. "I'm a mercenary in his employ."

The world narrows down to just Sylvain and that sword.

Yeah. Yeah, all right. He recognizes that emblem.

He wishes he didn't.

_She must be new_, he thinks distantly. She's young, like a stiff wind could knock her over. Was that what he thought? He doesn't actually know how Felix's mercenary band works. Even when they came to Gautier a few years ago, he rarely saw any of the others, focused as he was on Felix.

He should have asked, maybe even gotten him to introduce him to some of the others. He can't even tell if this girl was there that week. How is he... He's not...

He's not thinking about what he should be.

But any thought, any at all, is better than going back to _if anything happened to him_.

If anything happened to him.

If anything happened to _Felix_.

There has to be some kind of mistake.

He barely registers when the girl presses the sword against his outstretched hand, just automatically takes it into his own hands.

"I don't understand," Sylvain says. "If something happened to..." He stops, shakes his head. "I don't understand. Where's Felix?"

It can't be how it sounds. They made a promise.

She shifts on her feet. "I don't know. We... We lost track of him. He was on a dangerous job and... We couldn't find most of the others he went with either. And the one we did find..." Her eyes flicker away from Sylvain, then back at him. "There wasn't much left of him."

"But the sword!" he demands and doesn't even notice how his voice rises. He can't focus on anything past the way the blood rushes in his ears. "How'd you get the sword, then? He wouldn't just dump his sword somewhere and run off!"

"He didn't use this sword. This one was always in our base."

"But... But why'd he send me this, then?" His grip on the sword is growing painful, but he can't let go of it either. "Why are you bringing me this instead of looking harder for him?"

She plants her feet, glaring up at him, and for the first time, her own voice rises, her steady tone wavering. "Because it's what he asked for. It's been far too long and he was near Ailell! He wouldn't want us to waste our time looking for his corpse there!"

_His corpse, his corpse, his corpse_.

"It's... It's Felix. He wouldn't just... Why would he send this to me?"

"Those were his orders," she insists. "If we thought he was... gone, we were to bring this sword to you."

_Gone_.

The word rings in his ears, over and over again.

Gone. Felix, gone.

He can't do this.

Sylvain calls for a servant to get a room ready for her and it isn't until she's walking away, and he's left standing in the entrance hall, that sword now held loosely in his grasp, that he realizes he never even asked her for her name.

Distantly, Sylvain realizes he should get more information out of her, besides her name. He needs to know what Felix has been up to, why she thinks he can't just be injured... Just what happened to that mercenary they found, for that matter.

He just can't seem to hold on to any of those thoughts for long.

_They made a promise._

Even after everything, Felix wouldn't just break that promise, would he?

But even as the thought crosses his mind, he realizes how irrational it is. If something were to happen... Felix couldn't just gain immortality until Sylvain was ready to die. He couldn't just...

Suddenly, he can't stand to be in this room anymore.

He needs air.

His feet carry him outside, where the biting cold helps him slowly pull his head back together. Or something close to that, anyway.

Gone. Felix is gone.

As much as he tries, he can't keep himself from going back to that.

-

Felix was already out of bed by the time Sylvain woke.

He opened his eyes to find empty bedsheets beside him and pushed himself up on his elbows.

Felix was lacing up his boots in the chair by the lit fireplace, his hair still loose around his shoulders.

"Leaving already?" Sylvain smiled slightly to soften the words. "I'm hurt."

Felix huffed out a laugh, pausing halfway through the second boot, and lifted his head to look at Sylvain. "Yes. I've got things to do and my men are waiting." He ducked his head again. "You can get back to what you were doing."

"Aw, Felix. No need to rush."

No answer and, by the time he sat up again, he was pulling his hair back up into the low ponytail he'd been favoring recently. He rose to his feet and Sylvain noted he was already fully dressed, down to the sword at his side.

Felix stopped by the bedside, the expression on his face as familiar as it was inscrutable to him--the very same expression he kept directing at Sylvain near the end of the war. "It... was good seeing you again," he said, looking away. "But I do have to go."

"It'd have been better if you hadn't waited twenty years?" He meant it as a joke, or at least he thought it did, but the emotion that crept into his own voice made his breath catch.

Okay, he wasn't supposed to sound like that.

But that past week had been the first time Sylvain had even _seen_ Felix since the end of the war. He just...

There was nothing wrong with not being ready to say goodbye yet, was there?

Felix snorted and, steadying himself with a hand against the headboard, he leaned in and brushed his lips against Sylvain's, mumbling, "Goodbye, Sylvain," against his lips, then pulled back, all before Sylvain could react properly.

He turned around and walked out and Sylvain was left staring after him blankly, his heart beating as wildly as if it were his first morning after all over again. Then he was scrambling off the bed and throwing on some clothes, still only halfway into his shirt when he flung open his bedroom door and set off down the hall.

Could he really let Felix leave again just like that? It'd been _twenty years_.

"Felix, wait!" he called after him, hurrying through another empty corridor. A wide-eyed servant pointed him toward the entrance hall and Sylvain only nodded before breaking out into a run, heedless of who might be watching.

He feared, more than he'd like to admit even to himself, that this might be his last chance.

-

Nobody approaches him when he slowly wanders back inside, the fact he wasn't dressed for being outside catching up to him. The hall's empty again, even, and Sylvain is left standing there where she stood, still holding on to that sword so tightly it hurts.

He wants to pull it out of its sheath, he wants to hurl it away from him. He wants to hold it close to himself just as much. He wishes he'd never even seen it again

Because it's not even just the emblem on it, or the fact it came with confirmation that this was Felix's sword. The more he looks at it, the clearer it becomes that he does, in fact, recognize this sword itself. It's one of the two swords Felix carried with him all throughout the war.

Of course he kept it this long. That's just like him.

Sylvain's thoughts keep running away from him.

He doesn't know how long he stands there, trying to remember how to breathe again.

He runs a rough hand down his face shuffles out of the entrance hall and, completely bypassing his study, makes his way to his own bedroom. There, he drops down onto the chair by the fireplace and lays the sword out across his lap, gently placing a hand atop it.

What was Felix thinking, he wonders, to send this to him? What message did he hope to get across like this? Because Sylvain can't even begin to figure it out.

He ducks his head and tries to draw in a deep breath. Anything, anything at all, to try to get his head on straight, to _think_.

He still can't breathe right.

It feels like he shouldn't be able to. If Felix can't keep their promise, then he should, shouldn't he? He should've stopped breathing the very second Felix did, just keeled over where he stood so the two of them could go out together. Even after the years apart, even with the distance between them, their promise should have meant something, right?

Did Felix even remember? Is the sword meant as an apology for breaking the promise?

Or has Sylvain just been clinging to a childish, selfish promise all these years?

Maybe it never really meant anything.

His vision blurs and he wipes at his face, finding his cheeks damp.

"Pretty sad, huh?" he whispers to himself.

Maybe Margrave Gautier isn't a lonely man, he thinks, but he sure can be a pathetic man. He's only surprised he's not more used to that thought already.

Is he really just supposed to accept this? is he just supposed to take this sword and decide there really is nothing else he can...

He looks away from the sword, at the wider seat by the window, big enough for two children to sit in.

When he took on the title from the man who had replaced his father, by which time he was already the last Gautier still alive, he never did switch to the bedroom traditionally used by the lord of the estate. He still sleeps in his childhood bedroom, the very same one where, one late night, by the low light of the fire, two small boys made a promise on that seat by the window.

His breath hitches.

Sticking together until they die together, huh? Couldn't manage either of them.

And now Sylvain is still _here_, in that same room, while Felix is... Goddess. He doesn't even _know_ where Felix is. If none of the people who were with him could even find him... How lost is he right now?

(Because he can't think of it in terms of dead or alive, he just can't.)

He just doesn't know.

Sylvain jolts, then sits up in his chair.

It's like waking up all over again.

He _doesn't_ know. And it sounds like the mercenary band doesn't know much more than he does. Is he just going to take their word for it, when they haven't even found a body? Is he just going to give up on Felix like they have?

No. No, he can't.

They made a promise and, suddenly, he doesn't care at all if Felix even remembers it. He's keeping up his end of it. However he can. Whatever he has to do.

Sylvain lets the sword slip out of his hands, onto the floor, and marches right on out of his room again and gets the first person he spots to point him toward the room the mercenary's been given.

He needs answers. He needs to know how this happened, at the very least.

The room she's been given is one of the better guest rooms and Sylvain silently tells himself to thank whoever decided that later. Once he reaches it, he knocks twice on the door, and waits to be invited in.

Instead though, the door opens to reveal the girl staring up at him in confusion. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Yeah, actually. Can I talk to you?"

"What? I gave you the sword, I don't have anything else to say." She doesn't treat him with any sort of deference, which he supposes is just fitting for someone who worked for Felix.

It's kind of refreshing, actually, more reminiscent of Felix than she probably means for it to be. He hopes, inanely, that Felix himself told her to act that way. Maybe even that the younger generations are being freer with this sort of thing. Edelgard might have even liked that.

"I just need to ask you about something, all right?" He pauses. "Listen, what's your name?"

"Rowan," she says, eyeing him warily. "They say you don't go chasing after girls anymore and I'm choosing to believe that. So if you're still mad at me, I told you I was doing what he asked. I'm not going to listen to you lecture me or--"

"Relax." He holds his hands up and gives up on her letting him into the room. But that's fine. He doesn't need to get inside the room or even into her good graces. He just needs... A hint, a lead, _anything_, just anything that can help him decide what he should do next. "I just... Could you tell me more about how Felix went missing?"

She stares at him in a way that makes it so, if he had any doubt she worked under Felix, it would all quickly disappear. He's damn sure Felix gave him that same exact look more than once.

It stretches on for long enough that he's sure she's going to close the door in his face and refuse to say anything, title and position be damned, but then she's nodding.

Rowan speaks quickly.

She tells him of giant beasts terrorizing a town on the outskirts of the Daphnel territory and how Felix and three others had taken the job. They expected it'd take three weeks, at most, to take care of the job and return to their base. But when the weeks turned into four, into five, concern drove them to send another group to investigate--a group Rowan, a new hire indeed, had formed part of.

They found no sign of Felix and his men at the town and the people claimed they'd never returned after setting off to deal with the beasts. The tracks eventually lead them to Ailell, where they only found one of the three men Felix had taken with him. In more than one piece.

Sylvain winces.

_It wasn't Felix,_ he tells himself. _They didn't find proof Felix is gone._

That's something he can hold on to, at least.

"If I asked you to show me where that town was on a map," Sylvain says once Rowan's finished speaking and she's once again staring up at him with suspicion in her eyes. "Could you do that, Rowan?"

"Yeah, I could do that. It's not too hard to find. But..." She narrows her eyes at him. "Don't tell me... You can't really mean to _go_ there, can you?"

Sylvain doesn't even bother to try to make his grin look sincere. His mind's already somewhere else entirely. "I figure an extra set of eyes taking a look won't hurt."

She shakes her head. "I told you, we already looked. And, listen. It was dangerous. I don't think Mister Fraldarius would want you getting killed looking for him."

He lets out a breath that doesn't quite make it to a laugh like he intended. "Rowan, I have no idea what Felix would or wouldn't have wanted anymore. We haven't seen each other in..."

He trails off. Well, that came out sounding a lot more bitter than he meant for it to be.

"...He wouldn't want that," she repeats, looking away. "I'm sure of it."

"You'd know better than I would right now," he says. "But I never really listened to what he thought I should do, anyway. So, you still going to point me to the right place or..."

"...Will you just go and try to find the place anyway if I don't?"

"You bet!"

She sighs, long and slow. "Fine."

She disappears into the room, then back out, and hands him a map.

That's all he needs.

Anyone who could possibly talk him out of this isn't close enough to reach quickly.

It's a heady thought, that there's nothing, absolutely nothing but his own duties, keeping him from doing this. And maybe it's time he paid a little less attention to his duties. He can delegate for now, can't he?

If the worst comes to pass, if Felix really is... Well, if nothing else, he can at least try to make sure Felix gets a proper burial.

He just has to hope the worst doesn't come to pass. It's not worth thinking about just yet anyway.

For now, he heads back to his bedroom, then his study. It's going to be a busy day. If he has his way, he'll be out on the road by tomorrow, but there are preparations to be made before then.

The important thing is he knows where to start.

Sylvain takes his first full breath again.

-

"Margrave Gautier," were the very first words he heard from Felix in literal decades, said in the same kind of tone he might have used to call Sylvain _insatiable_ once.

"Felix," Sylvain said in response, already grinning as he rushed down the entrance hall. "You can't wait this long again before the next time we see each other."

Felix snorted. "I'm busy."

Sylvain threw an arm around his shoulders and, to his mild surprise, Felix didn't shrug him off, just heaved a long-suffering sigh. "So busy you can't even write me a letter? Come on, Felix!" He even did a decent enough job of not sounding outright disappointed. He thinks.

Yeah, Sylvain had missed him. So what? He was allowed to miss him.

"Yes, I was that busy," Felix answered, deadpan. His eyes were somewhere around Sylvain's chin when he sighed and went on, "Sorry. I did start a few letters, I just..."

Surprisingly, he understood. It was kind of nice, even, to realize that twenty years apart hadn't completely dulled his ability to understand Felix. "I wouldn't really mind if you wrote me short letters or never finished 'em, you know? I'd be happy just to hear from you. I know... everything got kind of weird."

Felix's shoulders hunched, but he didn't pull away from Sylvain. "Yes, I suppose so."

He'd come to learn that meant some kind of agreement.

Sylvain couldn't find it in him to complain anymore anyway, not when Felix was _right there_ again, after so long. After so many years without a single visit, a single letter, or even word of where Felix was at any given moment in time.

He could keep pressing about it, but the look in Felix's eye told him he wasn't willing to be forthcoming right now. So he could hold off for a while.

Maybe he'd get some answers before the job was done. For the moment, he was content enough to just get to see Felix again at all, to spend time with him, and he took advantage of their proximity to finally get a good look at him.

He looked... good, honestly. Older, of course, but Sylvain looked older, too--it _had_ been twenty years. And maybe he looked a little tired around the edges, dark circles under his eyes, but that wasn't really a surprise either. That became a common enough sight during the war and Sylvain had no doubt he was still pushing himself just as hard as ever.

So, all right. Tired. Older. Whatever. As far as Sylvain cared, he looked great.

When Felix raised an eyebrow, Sylvain moved to cover for the fact he was staring. He reached out to pull lightly at Felix's hair--looking about as long as it was during their days in the Academy, but pulled back in a ponytail now--and aimed a sunny smile at him.

Felix rolled his eyes, but stayed put.

Just that could brighten his entire day, even when he had to dedicate several hours to discussing Gautier's little problem with the Sreng getting more helpers than they usually had.

His father had to be rolling in his grave to know they'd called in extra help, but.

Whatever. Sylvain was in charge.

Sylvain hadn't even inherited the title from so much as he earned it back during the war, after his father was stripped of it and someone else was put in his place. He even almost considered not trying to get it back, just telling Edelgard he didn't want it and to give it to some other person who knew the area and could fight back the Sreng forces, but...

Felix took off, Ingrid wouldn't talk to him, and everyone else scattered to places that weren't cold, remote Gautier and...

Besides the fact he never quite managed to shake off his parents' voices, telling him it was _his_ responsibility to lead Gautier and carry on the family line...

There was nothing he else wanted to do anyway.

(At least he didn't carry on the family line.)

So, really. What did it matter anymore?

It was the best decision he could have made anyway, when it was _Felix's_ little band of mercenaries that answered the call for help.

Felix didn't even immediately ditch him the moment the meeting was over and his men scattered. He stayed with Sylvain and let him show him around like he hadn't already memorized the entire estate before he even turned ten years old.

Maybe they didn't fall into step together naturally like they used to, maybe Felix was even stiffer than he ever was before everything, but it was fine. It had been a long time, he kept reminding himself. Nothing could be the same way it was before and, honestly, pathetically, just this much was enough for him.

Felix must have been in a real good mood though, even if he was acting like his usual prickly self, because he immediately agreed when Sylvain suggested they take time to catch up after dinner. They retired to his bedroom and, as the night went on and Sylvain felt himself relax more and more, he could practically see Felix slowly loosen up as well, to the point he even cracked a small smile or two. Or three or five.

They were squeezed together in the bench by the window, Felix warm and _present_ beside him, and he could almost fool himself into thinking that they were back to their days in the Academy.

Those days back before the war made Felix sourer than he'd ever been, in any case, or Sylvain...

Well, he was always fine, wasn't he?

"Come on." He laughed. "At least tell me you've been having adventures regularly. You _have_, right?"

Felix let out a puff of laughter. "I guess. We probably would've called them adventures at some point." He shrugged. "There's always someone else to fight. So I fight and I get stronger. That's all there is to it."

"Except now you get paid for it and you've got help?"

Felix smiled. "Except now I get paid for it and I've got help."

Sylvain grinned. "So you're telling me about all those adventures, right?"

"Yes." He ducked his head, but not fast enough for Sylvain to miss the way his smile widened just the slightest bit. "I suppose I am. We have to catch up somehow." He bumped his shoulder lightly against Sylvain's.

Sylvain would happily blame his next words on the warm rush that overtook him at that. "Felix. Seriously. It's so good to get to talk to you again. It hasn't been the same around here without you."

He felt more than a little gratified when Felix flushed, just the slightest bit. Even if he did stay silent.

"What? Not gonna tell me you missed me, too?"

Felix bumped his shoulder against Sylvain's again, staying close to him this time. "Maybe a little. Wouldn't want to feed your ego."

The years might have softened Felix a little, he thought. The almost fond way he said the words wan't exactly anything new, but... There was something different about it anyway. Not quite relaxed, but still less wound up than before.

It was a good look on him. It was just a shame Sylvain didn't get to see the change happen.

Sylvain turned to face Felix more fully, jostling him slightly. "I think my ego's fed enough just by you being here," he said softly. "I think you made my whole year, and not just because there's no one else around here, I swear."

Felix scoffed, but he could tell his heart wasn't in it. "Sure. Whatever." He looked away. "I... _am_ glad to see you, too, Sylvain," Felix mumbled and Sylvain had a front row seat to the way that flush spread down to his neck. Then he was turning as well and, though he still had his head ducked, he was suddenly crowding Sylvain in a way that reminded him that bench really wasn't meant for two grown adults. "I didn't actually mean to spend so long away. I suppose I wasn't looking forward to coming back to this side of Faerghus."

"Felix... Come on, it's fine. Everything was kind of shit for a while there and--"

"Shut up," he interrupted him, no heat to his voice. "I want to tell you this."

There was something about his voice, something about the way it suddenly wavered on the last word, that had Sylvain sitting up and paying attention with the realization that this moment was... significant, maybe.

He hoped.

He laid a hand on Sylvain's thigh as he leaned closer to him, clenching and unclenching it, and he just couldn't decide whether it was intentional or not.

The hand on his thigh, the clenching, he didn't know. Both.

He debated whether to draw attention to it or not, then decided to just shut up and listen to Felix.

"I'm sorry. I know everybody else is..." He breathed in audibly. "I know none of the others are around anymore." And just from the way he said it, Sylvain could tell he didn't mean _the others who fought alongside Edelgard_. "So, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for that."

"Yes," Felix said, like the word had been dragged out of him. "I do. You're my friend, Sylvain. And I have precious few of those now."

Sylvain blinked in surprise. Did he hear that right? Could he get that hug to go with that this time?

Oh, to hell with it.

Sylvain covered that hand with his own and when he ducked his head, Felix lifted his. They both held still, close enough he could feel Felix's breath on his face. And he must have found something in Sylvain's expression, because his eyes widened, then narrowed, a very familiar determined look coming into them.

Felix leaned in first and Sylvain was more than glad to meet him halfway.

Their first kiss after being apart was easy. Like there'd been no time at all between now and the last time.

His free hand ended up on the back of Felix's neck, while Felix's hand grabbed on to the collar of his shirt.

It was slow and gentle, a soft slide of his lips against Felix's, until he deepened the kiss and it wasn't slow and gentle for much longer.

The hand at his chest tightened, Felix closed the space remaining between them, and oh, Sylvain would have loved nothing more than to stay like that.

In the end, he was both surprised and unsurprised when they ended up on the bed, no words spoken between them.

It could be dangerous, when he wasn't sure he ever managed to outgrow his feelings for Felix. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

He wanted this.

Afterwards, after Sylvain had come back down to earth, when he realized Felix had fallen asleep like that, one arm thrown over Sylvain's chest, it struck him, suddenly, that did actually come as a surprise to him. That Felix didn't immediately pull away to get out of Sylvain's room _was_ a surprise.

He let himself fall asleep there.

Not that he had much to compare to, but... It wasn't like that the other time.

Because it wasn't the first time they slept together. They'd fallen into bed together only once before, but the years in between hadn't been enough to make him forget it.

They slept together, the first time, less than a day after Dimitri's death. In camp and soon to set off for Fhirdiad, grief and sheer emotion had driven him to seek comfort in the arms of the person he trusted most. It had felt natural at the time, inevitable, and something slotted into place in his mind in the middle of it. With Felix's skin against his, his lips against his, he thought, _yes_. That was exactly where he needed to be.

On its own, that was fine. It was in the aftermath that he had slowly realized he was well and truly _fucked_.

They separated that night with an unspoken agreement that it was a one-time thing, brought about by the extraordinary circumstances. But...

He kept replaying that night in his mind, over and over again. Whether he slept in his old room in Garreg Mach or in his own tent, their night together would inevitably come back to haunt him.

What had once been a warmth in his chest, a casual appreciation of the way Felix looked, feelings he'd done his best not to look at too closely, grew quickly out of his control.

And Felix...

Felix went quiet afterward. Sylvain knew losing Dimitri was especially hard on him. He knew what he was doing when he defected and joined the Empire, had to have known it would involve facing off against Dimitri at some point, but... But, he supposed, no amount of bravado could have prepared him for the reality of it.

It didn't prepare _him_ either, after all.

Dimitri was... He'd been their friend, once. Important, despite everything that came between them. And Sylvain knew he'd never been quite as close to Dimitri as Felix had once been.

So it didn't matter what revelations he may or may not have had about his relationship with Felix, not when the specter of Dimitri seemed to hang between them nonetheless. It all meant nothing when the way Felix looked at him after _changed_ and what he found on his face more often than not was an expression he couldn't even begin to decipher. He wasn't used to that.

He realized, after it was all over, but while they were still regrouping in the monastery, how much he missed Felix's smile. Not that he ever smiled at Sylvain, or anyone for that matter, that often, but it was nice. When it did appear.

By the end of the war though, he thought he'd have actually been shocked if he cracked even a hint of a smile--when Felix wore a steely-eyed glare more often than not, when he was growing brusquer and shorter with just about everyone.

More than once, he wondered if there was something he should say, something he should do, but he could never seem to find the right words, no matter how hard he tried.

And, soon enough, they all went their separate ways and it was just too late by then, when he didn't have the slightest clue how to contact him, much less see him.

Felix slipped through his fingers.

(He feared, for longer than he'd have liked to admit, that he might never see Felix again. He feared the war had irrevocably broken something between them. Maybe from the very moment they chose to defect.)

Then he didn't see Felix again at all, for years and years.

Maybe, he thought one long, lonely night--one of many, he soon came to find--it was his punishment for all the hearts he'd broken.

He didn't really love the women he'd dated, any of them. It didn't matter what he said otherwise. He knew he didn't. But he still toyed with them so easily.

Who really knew if that was the kind of punishment the goddess would mete out, but... Maybe he deserved it, he thought.

If they weren't all already being punished for the war, for trying to break free of everything she established, that is.

He didn't know.

Then, years later, there was that trouble in Gautier and it was Felix who comes for the second job and it felt like a second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥
> 
> I'll post chapters 2 and 3, uh.... this week, if nothing comes up irl.


	2. Chapter 2

He sets off alone, early in the morning.

There's no one who could possibly talk him out of this anywhere nearby, but that means that there's no one who could possibly come with him anywhere nearby either. Not that he'd feel comfortable dragging even his friends into this.

And dragging anyone from his household into this is out of the question, or even Rowan, who he's he's already seen off, skeptical but willing to return and report back to her base.

This is just something he's going to have to deal with himself.

And if it proves to be too much for him alone, maybe he'll just keep his end of the promise this way.

It's fine.

He can travel faster when he's alone anyway, and the amount of time it'd take for a group to reach the border with the former Alliance is way, _way_ more than he's willing to wait right now.

It's better this way.

Even so, what might have been a long journey with company, becomes a long and _boring_ journey when he's got no one to talk to but his horse.

Still, he feels his spirits rise infinitesimally the farther he travels, as the landscape grows warmer around him. It's beginning to feel like early spring outside of the very northern tip of Fódlan.

Sylvain doesn't quite miss it, but it's nice, almost nostalgic.

There's no time to linger wherever he stops to rest though and he's back on the road before long every time, until he finally, finally makes it to Daphnel territory.

And he has to remind himself that he really does only have a map and secondhand information to go off. But it's fine. That's fine. He'll figure it out.

Maybe he'll learn a little more if he talks to the people once he reaches the town. Surely, they must remember the group of mercenaries they hired.

So it's a good thing he's practically bursting with questions by the time he makes it to his destination.

The town's bigger than he expected, and quite lively for a town that's been dealing with giant beasts, for that matter. He can only assume Felix and his group did manage to take them out, before... Before whatever happened to delay them. And to take out...

Well.

Thankfully, the town's big enough that he doesn't attract any attention when he arrives, just another traveler passing through, and it doesn't take him long to find the tavern. As good a place as any to start gathering information, right?

He wishes.

What he finds is that, no, they haven't had any more trouble with beasts since the mercenaries came, but no, they never did see that band of mercenaries again. They never even came back for the rest of their pay, a man he buys another pint for tells him. Yeah, he thinks they went out to the east of the town? Maybe the northeast? He doesn't remember that well.

Sylvain tries to hide his utter lack of surprise at that.

But that's just about the most helpful thing Sylvain manages to find out that day.

In fact, the longer it goes on, the more he hears the same thing over and over again. The mercenaries came, agreed to deal with the beasts, set off and just... Never came back. Even when they sent a few people to go looking, they found...

Nothing.

Not even asking about Rowan's group gets him much. Yes, the townspeople do remember the other group of mercenaries that came afterwards. But all they did was ask some questions, look around, and leave again not long after. None of them seemed willing to tell them why the original mercenaries didn't come back with them.

It's... frustrating. Frustrating is what it is. He _knew_ he had no guarantee of finding anything, he knew that going in. But maybe he just... Maybe he was still hoping for more.

But it's fine. It has to be.

He didn't come all this way just to give up when he didn't find much more than he already knew. He owes it to Felix, Sylvain decides that evening, to do whatever he can. There's not much point to anything if he doesn't.

It leaves him with little choice but going out and looking himself.

First though, he needs to regroup, maybe even take another look at that map.

Sitting in his room in the town's inn, he traces the distance between it and Ailell on the map, then where Felix would have had to go if he left from the east--or northeast--of this town to reach it.

One possible route, another possible route...

It's a start, at least, better than sitting around wondering.

He's all set to leave again the next morning, ready to at the very least retrace Felix and his group's steps. Ailell's only a couple days' ride from the town and, if he's lucky, he'll find some sort of clue before he reaches it.

And he'll go even farther if he has to.

The first day's uneventful, not even another traveler on the road, because. Really. Who'd willingly go in this direction anyway?

Sylvain settles down to sleep under the stars and wonders just what he'll say to Felix if (_when_) he manages to find him. Dead or alive.

Nothing that comes to mind seems good enough.

The beginning of the next day's more of the same, not even any signs of a fight. Which he expected, really, when Rowan and her group found nothing but a corpse in Ailell.

It's in the afternoon, when he's just brought his horse to a stop and dismounted, digging through his pack for the map, that he hears it.

A screech--far, far too close for comfort.

Sylvain's head snaps up.

A giant bird circling overhead, over by the trees further ahead.

He takes in a ragged breath.

Great. Just great. This was a possibility, too, of course it was (of course it fucking was, when there was no proof Felix had taken out the blasted beasts), but one he'd tried not to think too hard about when he was set on traveling alone.

At least the Lance of Ruin is good for one thing, he manages to think, before the thing's diving for him, the sound of his horse taking off fading into the background.

He holds the lance up at the ready, blocks the attack where the beast had been heading straight for his head. The beast rears back with another cry, changing its path.

The bird's injured, he realizes as he throws himself to the ground, dodging another swipe of its talons. He groans. His back won't thank him for that later.

It's flying oddly, and one wing seems to be missing half its feathers. And more than that, he notes with a grimace, telltale signs of powerful magic on the exposed wing.

Somebody's fought it before him and, through the haze of battle, through the blood rushing in his ears, hope manages to break through. He doesn't dare even think the words, lest he go and jinx it somehow. But he feels lighter, freer, as he pushes himself up to this feet and aims his next attack.

But even for an injured beast, his distraction was still a moment too long. 

Sylvain's attack goes wide. He moves to duck--too slow, damn it all, too slow--and its talons rake against his shoulder, sharp enough to pierce through and break skin.

He hisses in pain and just barely evades another strike.

_Get it together_.

He hoists his lance in front of him again, ready for the next attack.

It never comes.

The beast screeches again, louder this time. He blinks and there's an arrow embedded in its wing, followed by another coming to find its place in the very same, injured wing.

What?

Sylvain whips his head around, eyes widening when he catches sight of his unexpected savior. A dark-haired man holding a bow, his full attention on the beast as it turns its attention on him in turn.

He doesn't need even a moment.

_Felix_. It's Felix.

Sylvain chokes on a breath.

He can't move. He can't breathe, he can't think.

He can't be imagining this.

Felix is alive, _he's alive_.

And he needs help, Sylvain realizes with slowly dawning horror, as the fact that the beast's turned its attention on him finally sinks in.

He turns in place. His horse. Where did his horse go?

No time. He'll have to focus on Felix first.

Felix manages to hold off the beast before Sylvain can reach him, letting loose arrow after arrow. But he collapses against a tree trunk, breathing heavily, before he can fell it.

Sylvain's heart speeds up, feeling like it's about to beat out of his chest.

That's... That's unlike Felix. Is he injured? Could that be it? There has to be a reason he hasn't come back, right?

What is he even thinking, attacking the thing if he is? Trying to draw the damned beast's attention to himself?

Goddess. That'd be just like him.

There has to be something he can do.

He shifts his grip on the Lance of Ruin and presses his advantage with a heavy strike, enough to knock the beast off-balance again.

Then he's holding out a hand for Felix, breathing heavily. "Come on!"

Felix stares up at him in disbelief. "Sylvain?! Just what do you think you're doing?!"

And Sylvain has to close his eyes, just for a moment, or two, when he hears his voice. He can't believe he'd almost resigned himself to never hearing him again. Seeing him now, the relief's almost enough to make him tremble.

"Looking for you?! Come on! You're hurt, aren't you?" 

"While that thing's still there?! No! Help me fight it instead!"

Sylvain shakes his head roughly. "You can barely even stand right now!" They could probably take out that bird, he thinks, but the thought of trying to do it while Felix can barely seem to hold himself up is unacceptable.

And the more time they waste arguing, the more danger they're both in.

"Come on! _Please_. If we go into the trees, my horse should be there!"

Silence stretches between, until Felix clenches his jaw and seems to come to some sort of decision. He nods curtly, then reaches out to hold onto Sylvain's forearm.

The next few minutes are a blur, where he's aware of little more than the sound of Felix breathing behind him.

He'd been lying about the horse. He _didn't_ see where he went, but Sylvain experiences another overwhelming sense of relief when they dodge into the trees and find him.

He helps haul Felix up onto his horse and, barely waiting until he's sat securely behind him, he nudges the horse to set off, quick as it can, away from the site.

With any luck, the beast can't follow them in its state, if it didn't already lose them among the trees.

Sylvain thinks Felix might speak at some point, shouting something through the wind rushing past them, but he doesn't hear it.

All he can focus on is on getting _away_, on getting Felix somewhere safe for now. Everything else can wait.

Eventually though, when they've covered enough ground and his horse has begun to slow down, words manage to break through to him.

"--Are you even listening to me?!"

"Felix," he breathes. He shuts his eyes tightly and nods. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I'm listening now."

Felix huffs. "I was _saying_. I don't know where you think you're going, but there's a village nearby. We can stop there."

_That_ definitely wasn't on the map. Must be a very small village.

Sylvain swallows. "All right. Just show me the way."

He feels Felix nod behind him, before he launches into directions.

It feels like there's a lot he should say. A lot he _wants_ to say. But any further words get caught in his throat.

Once they're resting somewhere, and once he can make sure Felix is resting whatever injury it is he's got...

Then...

Then he doesn't know what comes next.

-

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten married," Felix told him his second evening back in Gautier, from where he was sitting beside him.

It was a little ridiculous to ask, Sylvain thought, while he was sitting on Sylvain's bed. And Felix called _him_ the idiot.

"Yeah?" Sylvain grinned. "Well, I don't have to pass on my Crest anymore, do I?"

Felix didn't quite smile in return, but it was a close thing. "Must have broken your father's heart," he said, not an ounce of sympathy in his voice.

Sylvain couldn't help it, he laughed. There was enough distance by then for it. "Oh, you've got no idea, Felix. I thought I was never going to hear the end of it from him." He leaned back against the headboard, letting out a long, slow sigh. "Doesn't matter what he thought about it anymore though, does it? I'm still living the single life!"

"That sounds like him." Felix rested his chin on his hand, his elbow on his raised knee. "Sounds like you, too. So how many angry brothers and fathers do you get nowadays?"

"You'd be surprised," Sylvain said, and realized he didn't mean it the way Felix probably thought he did. It had been so, so long since he had someone out for his blood for _that_ reason.

Felix furrowed his brow, something unfamiliar about the way he looked at Sylvain next. "It's probably not too late."

"To get married?" Huh. Really? Sylvain was definitely not the stupid one here. "Yeah. It's not," he said, and knew for sure that time that he meant something entirely different than what Felix did.

Maybe some things really were too impossible to think about.

Sylvain snorted. He didn't want to dwell on that thought anyway. "Isn't it a little weird for _you_ to be asking me about marriage though?" he asked, nudging Felix with his elbow.

Felix batted his elbow away. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you haven't exactly gone and gotten married either?"

"Some of us have more important things to focus on than marriage." 

Felix was the one to elbow him this time, rolling his eyes, and Sylvain burst into quiet laughter. Yeah, yeah, he was the serious one. Sure. "Then if you're not getting married, neither am I!"

The laughter only spurred Felix on. "Don't laugh at me, you moron," he grumbled, elbowing Sylvain again, hard. He _sounded_ annoyed, but Sylvain didn't miss the smile on his face.

It was hard not to keep laughing, faced with that sight.

Oh, he missed that, too.

Snickering, Sylvain batted his hands away, then elbowed him back, and Felix elbowed him back again, until it was a full-out scuffle

"What are you, a child?"

"You started it!" Sylvain protested, breathless with laughter.

"Do you see what I mean?!" Felix gasped out, but he was fighting back laughter himself. And practically on Sylvain's lap by then, which did wonders for making him look the opposite of intimidating.

The feeling that welled up in his chest then, with Felix so close to him--hair in disarray, cheeks flushed--was one he'd never tried to name (he'd actively tried _not_ to). But it was familiar.

It surprised him, still, how it came back just as strong after their time apart.

"Felix..." He laughed. "Seriously, I..."

Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because, "Shut up," Felix interrupted him, before he was tilting his chin up, eyes expectant.

It was obvious what he was doing. But who was Sylvain to deny him?

He had missed _this_, too.

He cupped Felix's face with gentle hands and leaned down to meet him.

After that, it was almost peaceful.

The job ended up stretching out throughout the whole week and Sylvain was counting that as a lucky break. Not only did it keep him busy with something other than the endless tedium of running his lands, but Felix was nearby the whole time.

That might have been the most important part to him.

He accepted every single invitation Sylvain extended in the evenings, his token protests, when they did come, accompanied by a half-smile more often than not.

It wasn't surprising either, when they fell into bed together again several more times throughout the week.

But that continued to be something unspoken between them, since even before the first time they slept together, Sylvain acknowledged to himself one early morning, when he'd woken before Felix had only to find him still next to him again, his face buried in Sylvain's shoulder.

Ridiculously, his heart skipped a beat.

They could both be the idiots in this relationship then. That worked, too, just as long as he still got to have moments like this.

Sylvain had missed him and every day only served to remind him of how much. There was something about having him around so regularly that intensified it, had him yearning more and more for him to stick around, preferably for even longer.

Logically, he knew the job would end soon and Felix and his group would leave.

But with every day closer to the end of the job, the less Sylvain wanted to let him go.

Maybe this time Felix would be willing to keep in touch? After coming all the way to Gautier?

It was worth asking, at least.

The conversation went wrong.

Two days from when Felix was meant to leave, with the job done and the bandits dealt with, and Sylvain had to go and open his big mouth.

Later, he'd be able to pinpoint the exact moment tension entered the conversation, when Felix's shoulders hunched up at what should have been a harmless comment, the muscle in his jaw tensing.

But in the moment, they had still been apart for too long. Sylvain wasn't quite as in tune with Felix as he had once been, and Felix wasn't as in tune with _him_ as _he_ had once been, to know what he'd been getting at.

In the moment, Sylvain brought up all the people they'd lost contact with, he brought up the war, meaning to use it as reasons for why he wanted to stay in touch this time.

_I still miss you, even when you're right here,_ he didn't say that time.

But he underestimated just how much of a sore subject the war still was.

Or rather, he might have underestimated just how much of a sore subject _Sylvain_ having joined their side of the war still was.

He hadn't even realized it was one in the first place.

"And, you know," he was saying, meaning for it to come across as a joke. "I even followed you to the Empire! It'd be a real shame if I never got to talk to you again after that."

Rather than crack a smile like Sylvain hoped though, Felix stilled, suddenly seeming to take up less space on the seat in his study. "You didn't have to join the Empire's side," he mumbled.

The tone of Felix's voice gave Sylvain pause. He did still recognize that hint of danger.

"...I know," he said slowly. Was that the wrong thing to say, after all? "But I did. Couldn't leave you there alone, now could I?"

Felix frowned, somewhat more intensely than usual. "But you could have," he said, voice oddly hollow. "You left the..." He faltered. "You left the others alone instead."

"Yeah?" He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. _You did, too,_ he didn't say. It seemed unnecessary. Instead, he said, "I went with what I thought was most important." It was the truth, in more ways than one, but he'd rather Felix take it as shallowly as possible.

Felix's clenched his hands in his lap.

"Besides," Sylvain went on, a little too quickly, when Felix stayed silent. The words spilled out of him almost without his permission, long disused, but still familiar. He'd have cringed at them, if he weren't so focused on the way Felix's expression turned darker and darker. "All those girls in the Empire? You know that back then I just had to go for it. A much better sight than Dimitri, you know? And I mean, the Professor was a babe, too, she--"

He didn't even have time to regret mentioning Dimitri's name.

"Enough," Felix hissed, face set in a scowl. He scowled, his voice steadily ring, "I never asked you to follow me into this, Sylvain. You could've stayed in Faerghus." _With Dimitri_, he didn't say. "You didn't have to get yourself involved in all of this!"

_Oh, you really put your foot in it now._

Wrong, it was going all wrong.

"I _wanted_ to follow you into this, Felix," he protested. Shit, what was he thinking? "Besides..." He let out a mirthless laugh and ran a hand down his face. "I was going to be involved one way or another and you know it."

That was more sincere than he wanted, but. It was Felix. If he couldn't tell him, who could he tell?

It was the truth.

Following Felix was, in the end, more important to Sylvain than following Dimitri and that wasn't going to change, but he wouldn't fool himself into thinking he could have sat nice and tight somewhere and ignored the war. If Faerghus was dragged into it then of course the heirs of all the noble houses were as well.

He just got involved in a different way when he up and abandoned Gautier instead, that's all.

"That's an easy answer."

"Easy?" Sylvain shook his head, hurt despite himself. "I don't get it. What do you even want from me? You know it's true."

Felix ran a hand through his hair roughly. "You really expect me to just take that answer?"

Sylvain could only stare at Felix, at a loss. "What does that even mean?"

Felix sneered at him. Sylvain could tell, just a moment too late, he'd definitely struck a nerve somewhere. "It means you've always been a coward when it comes to these things! Why go and leave your family then?! Me? _Girls_? You've got to be kidding me."

And that. _That_ one hurt. That one really did hurt.

"That's not fair, Felix. Some of us didn't have the luxury of just up and abandoning our families," he protested, face flushing. "It wasn't easy to leave it all behind!"

"Then tell me the truth. Why did you?! What could have possibly made you _want_ to?"

So many things. Nothing at all. He wouldn't even know how to begin to explain. Felix probably wouldn't like any of it.

"Felix." He let out something that just barely passed for a laugh. "Felix, what the hell? Are you seriously angry at me because I might have followed you into the war?"

The look on Felix's face could have killed him twice over. It might have, if Felix hadn't risen roughly to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor, and stormed off--though not without one last disgusted sound aimed at Sylvain.

It figured.

When he came back the next evening, it didn't quite mean they'd made up, he knew. Their arguments weren't as easily resolved as when they were children, when all Sylvain would have to do was apologize and hold Felix while he cried. They weren't even as easily resolved as when they were in Garreg Mach, when Felix would slink back the next day with an apology, then pretend nothing happened.

But it could have been a start.

Or it could have been, if Felix hadn't disappeared all over again right after he left.

-

Felix is limping, Sylvain notices when he dismounts.

He's directed him to stop at a house at the edge of a village, what looks like a small cluster of houses around a square that indeed hadn't been on the map.

"This wasn't the village that hired you, right?" Sylvain asks as he dismounts as well. He feels like he's functioning almost automatically now, like the hand that pets his horse's flank isn't his, like he never consciously decided to turn around and face Felix.

He'd love to say he's just lost in his thoughts, but even those doesn't seem to be working properly. Felix is alive. Felix is in front of him.

But that's as far as he can get before he loops right back around to the start.

"No," Felix say shortly, then nods toward the door. "Come on. No one should be home yet, but we can go in. Your horse'll be safe here, too," he calls back over his shoulder, already at the threshold.

Silently, and with one last pat to his horse, Sylvain follows him, until they're inside the cramped little house, silent and empty.

Felix stands in the middle of the room, where he's setting down his bow and quiver on the table in the center. He rubs his shoulder, turning his head to face Sylvain where he's still standing only just inside. "Are you just going to stand there or what? Get in."

"Uh, right. Right!" He steps farther inside so hastily he doesn't even remember to close the door, just barrels right on through to stand in front of Felix, who looks up at him with an odd expression on his face.

He doesn't know if Felix says anything else then. Inside, in the light streaming in through the open door and windows, with the first good look Sylvain gets at Felix, he realizes the limp isn't the only sign Felix has been in a nasty fight.

A fight he either lost or just barely won, from the looks of it.

Sylvain swallows. He's going with _just barely won_. Hopefully.

Please.

He spots a bandage wound around Felix's arm, poking out from just under one of his sleeves. Though he doesn't lift his head, doesn't in any way acknowledge that he's noticed Sylvain looking, Felix pulls down his sleeve roughly when he tries to get a better look, standing up straighter.

He's itching to ask about it--the arm, the limp, even the fading bruise on his cheek and the half-healed scrape on his jaw he can now see, to ask just _where he's been_.

Anything. Just anything that'll make it stop feeling like there's a vice around his heart.

The thing is... maybe the fight rattled him more than he thought, or maybe seeing _Felix_ is what's got him rattled. He still doesn't feel quite like himself, with the way everything feels oddly distant, more like he's watching himself from somewhere far off, standing in this house staring dumbly at Felix.

He needs to say something.

But now, with nothing else to focus on, faced with only Felix before him and an empty house around him, any of the words he's been longing to tell Felix get stuck in his throat.

He opens his mouth, takes a breath, and nothing comes out.

Sylvain presses a hand to his chest, where his heart's still beating a mile a minute, so much it's _painful_. It's too much. Overwhelming. And when he makes to draw in another breath, to breathe out, he chokes on a sob.

He can't stop the tears this time either, as quick and sudden as when he'd received that sword.

The idea that it's Felix who had once been the crybaby seems almost laughable now.

He can't even be properly embarrassed, not when every time he looks up, there's Felix standing before him. Bewildered, annoyed, still only halfway turned toward him, but _alive_.

What else could he ever ask for?

"What are you... Sylvain!"

Felix's eyes widen in a way that, any other day, would have Sylvain bursting into laughter. But right now, all he can feel is a rush of gratitude so strong it nearly bowls him over.

Sure doesn't help stop the tears either.

Felix is right in front of him by then, hands hovering awkwardly before him. His expression twists when he notices Sylvain staring straight at him again. "Pull yourself together, Sylvain!"

"Sorry, sorry." He laughs weakly and wipes at his face. "Can't I just be happy to see you?"

Everything's perfect. He's never been happier.

It's even funny, how it's Felix at a loss for what to do when, once, so long ago, it'd have been Sylvain rushing to comfort a sobbing Felix instead.

"What the..." Felix lowers his hands again, but the expression on his face doesn't change. "That doesn't look very happy to me."

Sylvain lets out a watery laugh, wiping more roughly at his cheeks. "I thought you were dead, Felix. Cut me some slack."

"What."

The sheer confusion in Felix's voice is enough to distract Sylvain from his own internal not-crisis. He straightens up.

"Uh, your sword? Your mercenaries?" He sniffs, wiping at his face one last time. All right, maybe he's a little embarrassed. Just a little, he'd like to think getting older has just helped him perfect being shameless by now. "Just why did you tell them to bring your sword to me if you didn't come back anyway? _Me_?!"

Felix looks away, a hand over his mouth, his cheeks steadily growing pink.

Maybe there are some things he's glad haven't changed.

Felix clears his throat. "That's not important."

"Not important? Like hell it isn't! When that girl--Rowan--got to the estate, she sure was acting like it was important. And..." It hurts, to remember it. "And, in case you missed it, she said your orders to all of them were to give _me_ that sword if something happened to you. That seems worth mentioning to me!"

Felix lowers his hand and crosses his arms, still avoiding eye contact. More than usual. "I was stupid. I should have told them not to do it.

"Don't give me--"

"Besides," Felix interrupts, loudly. "I'm obviously fine, aren't I? They shouldn't have delivered that to you at all, I just... I lost track of time."

Sylvain pauses, brain latching on to this shift, if only because this _is_ one of the dozens of questions he's got for Felix--the dozens of questions he's struggling to so much as hold on to right now. "Felix... Listen."

"Anyway," Felix interrupts him, loudly. "You're bleeding. Stop talking so I can take a look at that."

"Huh?" It takes Sylvain a moment to even realize what Felix is talking about. It feels like that beast's talons got him so long ago. "It's fine. I don't even feel it anymore."

Felix presses his lips together in a thin line. "I don't care. Come here, I can still use _some_ magic."

He'd really, really rather not. He'd really rather hear what Felix has been up to. But the look in Felix's eyes leaves no room for argument and...

It _is_ starting to sting somewhat, now that he's been reminded of it. Not to mention the bruising there'll be soon...

Felix manhandles him onto one of the chairs by the table, brusquely ordering him to strip shirtless. His tone's at odds with the gentle way his hands run over Sylvain's exposed skin though, carefully skirting around the edges of the wounds, wiping away the blood. "You're going to end up one big bruise, but this could have been a lot worse," Felix says, tone flat, even as Sylvain feels the pull of healing magic slowly stitching the wounds closed. "You're lucky."

"Yeah. I am," he says and means it.

Strange, the smile that takes over his face.

Sylvain still doesn't feel quite like himself, but the longer he's in here, in this little cottage with Felix right by him, his hands on him... It's like slowly coming back to his own body. His very thoughts, tattered since before he left Gautier, coming back together the same way his skin is.

So he carefully picks through them, forcing himself to focus on just one thing. "What did you mean you lost track of time? What happened that had everyone thinking you were dead?"

Felix doesn't answer at first. "It's nothing." His hands still on Sylvain's shoulder. "We only expected one giant beast. Perhaps two." He scoffs. "There were more."

"It doesn't look like nothing to me. You're hurt now," Sylvain points out gently, trying very hard not to think about a group of four taking that on when they expected _one_.

"I said I'm fine."

For the love of... "For a really funny definition of _fine_." Sylvain twists around in his chair, prompting Felix to take a step back. "You're limping, Felix! And... And look at you! And what happened to your men!"

Felix fixes him with an oddly blank expression, looking away as he wipes the blood off his hands.

Then, "Yes." He sighs, his shoulders slumping, and he drops down onto the other chair. "We lost," he says grudgingly. His expression changes into one Sylvain recognizes, angry at himself more than at anything else. "The beasts scattered us and I was... unconscious for longer than I'd have liked to be. By the time I came to, someone from this village had found me and..." A muscle in his jaw twitches. "And the others were gone. Because I didn't prepare us enough."

"Felix, come on--"

"It was stupid," he goes on, tone as sharp as it's ever been. "I know damn well what it takes to fell the beasts, I should have made sure to bring more people with us. I should have--" He cuts himself off with a strangled sound from the back of his throat, as angry as it is frustrated.

Sylvain can't stand to watch.

He stands and closes the distance between them, sinking to his knees in front of the other chair. Heedless of the glare aimed at him, Sylvain reaches out to cup Felix's face. Felix's eyes widen, a surprised breath escaping him, but he doesn't move.

Sylvain licks his lips. How to even begin to explain what he wants to say? How to say it in a way that won't have Felix pulling away and running away, for that matter?

Because it's selfish. It's so, so selfish, and he knows Felix wouldn't even want to hear it, that it'd probably just make him angrier, but... Right now, he can't manage to feel anything but all-encompassing relief at the fact that Felix is alive. Breathing and warm in front of him, between his hands.

He can't find a thought to spare for the dead.

"I'm just so happy you're alive, Felix," is what he finally manages to squeeze out. He lets out a breathless laugh. "You have no idea how much."

Felix lifts his own hands. "I told you I'm fine, you moron," he says, but all Sylvain can hear is the unexpectedly warm tone behind the words, and all he can feel is the warmth of Felix's hands on his wrists.

Sylvain smiles and leans in to press their foreheads together. Felix breathes in sharply, his eyes sliding shut.

"I wasn't strong enough for this." Nothing but bitterness in his tone. "That's the long and short of it."

"Let me help you," Sylvain whispers, ignoring that. He doesn't know anyone stronger than Felix. "We can at least take care of that last beast together."

He can't bring back the companions Felix lost--and he won't dare say anything about how they died, not with how he knows Felix feels about that sort of sentiment--but he can do this much.

"Sylvain." Felix's hands tighten around his wrists. But the protests Sylvain expects never come. Instead, Felix sighs and the tension seems to slowly drain out of him. "All right. We'll take care of it."

-

It hurt to see Fhirdiad ablaze, so many of its familiar streets reduced to little more than rubble.

His faith in the Archbishop had wavered--more than it had ever before--from the very moment she ordered for what happened to Miklan to be kept quiet, even more when he decided to join Edelgard and take up arms against her. Yet, somehow, it was seeing Rhea do something like this to Faerghus that shocked him most of all.

But he never thought she'd use Dimitri like that either, did he? Look how that turned out.

She didn't even seem to _care_ what happened to him in the end, much less the rest of her allies, and Dimitri was left behind with only what few allies he had left by his side. To die on that field.

The thought was chilling. Worst of all, he knew, he could see, that it affected Felix in much the same way.

Sylvain sighed. Even then, when it was all over, when all that was left was to regroup in the monastery, he couldn't seem to get the image of that field out of his head. Or of the way Dimitri fought until the very end.

That was just war. Regardless of what he may have said throughout those years, he did know that would likely happen at some point.

It was just...

Standing in the cathedral at Garreg Mach, still only partially restored, he could only think of Rhea, and how quickly she had seemed to change.

Could the Professor having chosen to fight against her really affected Rhea that much?

Sylvain was never quite able to forget the look on her face that day in the monastery, when Byleth chose to protect Edelgard from Rhea, rather than follow her orders. _Scary_ didn't even begin to cover it.

Was that the moment that decided Dimitri's fate? All of their fates?

He grimaced. Ugh, he needed to get out of there. Night was falling and without even Marianne there busy with her daily prayers, the cathedral was just eerie. And obviously making him think about even eerier things.

Way unpleasant.

The way it looked, it felt almost like the Goddess really _was_ watching him. And she didn't approve--of him, of his actions, of...

Sylvain shuddered. It was easy to believe, standing there, that divine retribution was waiting for him somewhere. For all of them.

It wasn't like he regretted the broad strokes of everything they did. A possibility at a world that wouldn't treat anyone the way it did people like Miklan (and himself, he tried not to think) was something he could never regret.

But they definitely killed something at least halfway divine in Fhirdiad. Were they really just going to get away with that? _Could_ they get away with that?

Ugh, there he went again. He needed a distraction, and fast.

He shook his head roughly, forcing himself to turn around and away from the cathedral. Anywhere in the monastery was better than the cathedral.

Out he went, bypassing the reception hall, his feet carrying him instead toward the academy, where the old classrooms still stood more or less intact.

Not that seeing that would help either. Empty as they were, over five years since the last time a class was held in them, they weren't a much better sight than the cathedral. Though if he was lucky, maybe the classrooms had fewer angry goddesses lurking in the shadows.

He huffed out a quiet laugh at the thought.

Yeah. Maybe.

Wandering past the classrooms, he stopped before reaching the dorms, at the doors just before the stretch that would take him to them. There. He could stop there.

Sylvain wasn't surprised when he found Felix in the training grounds.

Quite the opposite. Was there any point in lying to himself about his reasons for not walking right past the doors, after all?

Sylvain _was_ surprised to find him there empty-handed, arms crossed, and staring off toward the training dummies.

"Felix? What? Don't tell me. No training tonight?" he called out, lacing his hands behind his back, aiming for cheerful and unconcerned.

Felix didn't quite startle, but his reaction was just slow enough that Sylvain knew he'd been uncharacteristically distracted.

"Sylvain," he said, turning in place to look at him. "No, not tonight." He looked Sylvain up and down. "Don't tell me _you're_ here to train."

"Nah." He laughed, a touch self-deprecating. "Nah, you know that's not why I'm here. We're supposed to be celebrating right now, anyway!"

Not that he was in a festive mood.

"If you want to waste time." Felix uncrossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at him.

Felix was already in his traveling clothes, Sylvain noted with some surprise.

His... traveling clothes...

Sylvain's heart sank at the sight.

He couldn't possibly be thinking of leaving already, could he? It'd barely been two days since they'd returned.

And the journey back to Fraldarius would take...

He swallowed. Actually... Was Felix going back to Fraldarius? Had he even mentioned wanting to reclaim the title? Did he even have plans yet?

The realization that he didn't know sent him off-balance.

_Of course he has plans, why else would he be ready now?_ a nastier part of his mind whispered to him. _There's just no point in telling you._

Evidently, he was silent for too long, because Felix took a step forward and, an unreadable expression on his face, asked, "Why did you come here, then?"

Sylvain didn't have an answer for that--at least, not one he was willing to share just then. "Old times' sake? You gotta admit, it's kind of nostalgic being here after everything's over and done with." 

Felix hummed noncommittally.

Resisting the urge to shift on his feet, Sylvain went on, "So, have you decided? Where you're going to go now?"

He regretted the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth, as if Felix had just been waiting for him to acknowledge it before he decided to turn tail and run from him.

As much as he tried, he couldn't help but picture Felix doing just that: taking one look at Sylvain and leaving him without a single word more, as if suddenly realizing he was wasting his time with him. That he didn't deserve even another word.

Rather than immediately disappear though, Felix shrugged. "There's plenty of places still to fight. They'll take willing swords almost anywhere."

Sylvain chuckled, though he could tell it'd be obvious the sound was forced. "Come on, Felix. You don't even want to take a break?"

"Why? There's no point in sticking around here waiting until enough time has passed."

"You're serious." Sylvain sighed. Maybe he should have stayed in the cathedral, after all, if the alternative was this, the terrible sinking feeling in his stomach worsening by the second.

Or. No. No, he knew he couldn't miss this. Just as he knew, he just knew somehow, with the way Felix had been acting lately, that if Felix left now, something would change for good. "That's seriously what you're planning to do?"

Felix only frowned.

The urge to _act_ was practically a tangible thing by then. To do or say _anything_.

He couldn't just let him go like this, could he? He couldn't just let Felix walk out like this.

But. Did he have any real argument for it? Was there really anything he could say to stop Felix?

Was there anything about him that could make Felix even want to?

"I..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "But you know you can stay a while longer, right? You don't have to go rushing off already."

"No," Felix answered, voice dangerously soft. He turned his face away. "I can't."

"Felix, come on."

"The war's over. Rhea's dead and Di..." He turned away, as if to hide his stumble. "And the _boar's_ gone, too. It's time to move on."

Sylvain meant to follow him. He really, truly did. To grab his wrist, his shoulder, to beg him to stay, if he had to. But as he watched him turn away, even one step seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.

And Felix didn't wait for him to remember how to move.

"Goodbye, Sylvain," he whispered.

If Sylvain tried very, very hard, if he just let himself be fooled for a moment, he thought he could hear a hint of regret in Felix's voice. He thought maybe Felix's steps faltered, just the slightest bit, as he turned away and left.

It wasn't enough, he thought, his heart cracking painfully.

But it would have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was also meant to be shorter than this... Oops. Fight scenes are also poor decisions.
> 
> Anyway, the last chapter's done, so if I don't go and make even more poor decisions and add to it again, it should be up this weekend.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! ♥


	3. Chapter 3

Felix is adamant they set off immediately to deal with the beast, but the thought of it makes Sylvain's blood run cold.

It's not that he doesn't think they can do it. They can. He knows. But as the hours in Felix's company in that little village stretch out, the more he sees the lingering evidence of his previous fight with the beast. The still-healing injuries, the limp, even the way he suddenly stops and winces whenever he moves too quickly, and the way his shoulder seems to bother him.

He saw Felix in worse states several times during the war. Laid up in the infirmary in Garreg Mach, confined to his room, bleeding on the battlefield, all before having to go right out and do it all over again--he's seen it all. But maybe the memory of when he thought Felix was dead is still too close to the forefront of his mind, because he balks at the thought of fighting the beast now when, years ago, he'd have gone right back out without a second thought.

Or maybe he can blame it on getting older.

As it is, it's when the owner of the cottage comes back, an old woman who'd apparently been the one to tend to Felix's injuries, that Felix is convinced to wait, at least till the next day. Even if he does only agrees when she's done rattling off the, frankly concerning, long list of injuries he sustained the first time he faced the beasts. Without anyone who could use healing magic nearby.

The list is long enough to make Sylvain lightheaded.

It does certainly explain why the other mercenaries thought he was dead, if he wasn't even well enough to _be_ found by them.

It's a real unpleasant thought.

That night, they sit in the back room Felix has been staying in, on the very edge of the narrow bed. Felix holds himself stiffly and Sylvain is sure only part of it is due to his injuries.

Neither of them has said a word since the old woman bid them goodnight and sent them off to that room. They have to share the bed and maybe that should prompt some sort of conversation, but that's the least of his concerns now.

Sylvain feels more like himself now, less like he's about to unravel all over again. But he still can't quite seem to pick out the words he needs to say. There isn't much he can ask when Felix has already given him the basic rundown. And just talking to each other...

The problem, he decides, holding back a sigh, is that there's just too much he wants to tell him. And most of it would probably reveal more than he strictly wants to reveal.

But then again, does that even _matter_ anymore? Hasn't he, just by showing up here, already revealed more than he ever meant to?

Everything feels different now. After the fear that he might never see Felix again, after it hit him so much harder than he ever expected. All his old fears seem so insignificant in comparison now, after having to grapple with the thought that he'd never get to say any of what he'd kept locked away for so long.

It's Felix who breaks the silence in the end.

"Sylvain," Felix says and his head snaps up from where he'd been trying very, very hard not to stare at Felix. In looser clothes now, the bandages wound around his arm are more visible, along with even more scrapes and enough bruises to make Sylvain wince, and it's getting harder and harder to keep his eyes off them all. "Thank you for helping with this. After it's over, I'll get back that sword and get out of your hair, all right?"

That's so far out of anything Sylvain expected that he can only stare at him, dumbfounded.

"What was that?"

Felix scowls. "I said I'll go and get that sword and--"

"But _why_?" he cuts in, bewildered. "Why would you... Felix." No. No, that's still not quite right. He spreads his arms. "What exactly do you think I think about you?"

Felix freezes, mouth still half-open, but he recovers quickly enough. "It's not about what you think of me, Sylvain. It's--"

All at once, he's had enough.

Enough. He came out all this way, determined to find Felix one way or another, be it alive or by fulfilling their promise his way.

He can't keep doing this.

"How long are we going to dance around this, Felix?" Sylvain blurts out.

Felix scoffs. "What the hell are you talking about?"

And that's. That's just so much like Felix he can barely _stand_ it.

To hell with it.

On impulse, he turns and places his hands on Felix's shoulders, takes a breath, and says, "What about any of this makes you think I want you gone?"

The way Felix's brows furrow, his lips turning down in a frown, disbelief written clear across his face, just about breaks Sylvain's heart.

How can he...

Steeling himself, Sylvain throws his arms around Felix, holding him tightly when he makes no move to pull away. There really is no damned point in trying to hold any of this back anymore. "Can you listen to me for a second, Felix? Please?" he asks and can't find it in him to regret the desperate edge to the words.

"...What is it?"

"I thought you were dead. For a while there, I seriously thought you were _dead_. Gone forever, Felix. And I don't know what I would've done if..." He trails off, any further words dying in his throat.

That's a lie. It's a lie that he doesn't know what he'd have done. But he can't bring himself to say it either.

Felix silent and tense, but he still hasn't moved, so Sylvain takes that as encouragement to continue. "Hasn't it been long enough, Felix? I'm sick of..." He presses his forehead against Felix's shoulder. "...Having to pretend I don't care about you as much as I do. And I _know_ you know how I feel."

Now, if only he could figure out how Felix feels.

Felix tenses even more against him, a soft sound escaping him, but Sylvain can't find it in him to regret any of what he said.

"Sylvain," is what Felix finally says, voice thick. Hesitantly, he lifts a hand to cradle the back of Sylvain's head. "I'm sorry. I didn't exactly mean to get hurt."

He shakes his head roughly. It's not even a response to what he said. "You don't have to apologize for that. I know you didn't and I know how bad it had to be to get the best of you. What matters to me is that you're alive."

Felix nods against him, silence falling over them.

"...I do know how you feel," he says at length, his voice wavering, and Sylvain squeezes his eyes shut, his heart hammering in his chest. "I do."

Felix doesn't say anything else, only holds on to him, and Sylvain doesn't ask him to.

He feels rubbed raw just from this much--and there's still so much more he wants, _needs_, to say--after what a long day it's been.

Week. Month. Years.

For now, he lets himself hold Felix, as tightly as he dares. Until Felix wordlessly lowers him to lie on the bed, arranging himself around him, one arm slung over his chest.

The next morning, Sylvain wakes up pressed up against Felix in the narrow bed, his head resting on Felix's chest, the sound of Felix's heartbeat in his ear.

It's the best thing he's ever woken up to.

-

It's almost funny, how easy it is to deal with the beast his second time around. The injuries Felix already inflicted on the beast, and the ones from before, end up being the best damn thing that could happen to either of them. Prepared as they are now, and between the bow he's using, still unable to swing his sword properly, and Sylvain's Lance of Ruin, the beast goes down easily.

And they're left to ponder their next move yet again.

In the moments before they set back off for the village, both of them still catching their breath, he realizes they never resolved that last night.

"You could use a healer," Sylvain murmurs, lifting a hand to brush his thumb against where a particularly long gash on Felix's jaw has caught his eye.

It doesn't look like it was made by a beast's talons, but it still looks like it was painful.

Felix's eyes flicker up to his, then quickly back to the left of him, but he doesn't seem displeased. "I might've already healed entirely by the time we find one out here," he says wryly.

Sylvain lets out a soft laugh. "Yeah, maybe." Even the town he'd started out in didn't seem like it had a healer tucked away anywhere. "But I'd bet you'll want to be in top form again as soon as you can, right?"

Felix hums in answer. Sylvain takes it as a yes.

"And after that..." he dares to say, gently picking back up the thread of the conversation they'd abandoned the night before. He lowers his hand, giving Felix his space back. "...Come back with me to Gautier?" he asks, hopeful. "You said I've got to give you back your sword, right?"

"You do," he answers, the slightest curl to his lips.

"And you could stay a while after, you know?" Sylvain rubs at the back of his neck. "We don't have to let it go as long between visits again, right?"

He expects, even as he says it, for Felix to frown at him even more than usual, for him to shoot down the idea without a second thought again. For a repeat of the night before, at best.

But Sylvain has obviously not been the only one thinking since then, judging off the way Felix's expression turns contemplative.

"I need to let the others know. Before they hold a funeral for me."

Sylvain winces. That ship might have already sailed, but he's not going to be the one to bring it up.

"I can send a messenger as soon as we get to Gautier. Isn't your base on the other side of Faerghus?" What used to be Faerghus, at any rate. "If we don't find a healer, wouldn't it be even easier for you to stay with me for a while, since it's closer?"

"I can take care of myself, Sylvain," Felix says, but there's no irritation in his voice this time.

"I know you can, Felix. Look, if you really don't want to, I won't push, but come on. What do you say?"

Felix sighs through his nose, then seems to come to a decision. "I still can't believe you came all the way here from Gautier on your own," he grumbles. Before Sylvain can comment on _that_ observation, he rolls his eyes and goes on. "I'll go with you to get my sword. And maybe I'll stay a while."

Wait.

Really?

"Only if you really want to!" Sylvain hastens to say, but Felix is already turning away.

"Yes, I do," he says shortly. "Now, are we going or what?"

"Right! Thank you!"

-

"Have you been to see Ingrid?" Sylvain asks during the ride back to Gautier.

It's not the smartest thing to ask, probably, but it's hard not to think about her now, when it's just the two of them.

Felix shakes his head, looking down at his hands on the reins of his own horse. "I tried. She didn't want to talk," he says, oddly distant.

And Sylvain thinks, _Yeah_. He knows exactly how Felix feels.

Sylvain clears his throat. "Can't say I blame her."

"No. Neither can I."

It's not like he didn't expect this answer. It's even less surprising that Felix hasn't had any luck on that front. Sylvain spent years without even trying to talk to her, yes, but Felix spent those very same years avoiding just about everyone and everything they once knew.

But now...

Maybe it's still not too late to try again. Things might never be the same again, but if they can salvage even a fraction of the friendship they used to have, if Ingrid will at least talk to them again...

It's surprisingly easy to feel optimistic now, even with the way Felix doesn't say another word more for hours.

He wants to try.

-

The rest of the journey passes slowly, but this time, Sylvain doesn't mind at all. Not the speed, and certainly not the way that, more often than not, he wakes wrapped up with Felix wherever they've settled for the night--be it an inn or on the ground.

It means it'll be longer before he can get back to his usual work, but. It's hard to care right now.

They arrive at the estate in Gautier with little fanfare. The way they're greeted, it's as if it were just the Margrave returning after a quick jaunt out, rather than how long he really was away, after setting off alone with barely a word.

He wonders, standing in his study while Felix pens a letter for his mercenaries, the chosen messenger not looking even the slightest bit surprised, just much the rumor mill was running while he was gone.

Maybe a few too many members of his household have seen him running all over the place after Felix by now, he thinks and has to hide a smile when Felix looks up at him curiously.

He'll have to see who's willing to give him the rundown on the gossip later.

Felix endures the estate's healer looking him over with a critical eye, though not without rolling _his_ eyes at Sylvain behind the old healer's back. More than once.

Sylvain has to hold back a laugh each time and the poor healer ends up thinking there's something wrong with _him_.

To only his mild surprise, Felix follows Sylvain right back to his bedroom that night. As he undresses, he aims a look at him like he's just daring Sylvain to send him off to a guest room instead.

He wouldn't dream of it.

Instead, he sits down on the edge of the bed and holds out a hand for Felix, who eyes it carefully, before taking it.

Sylvain flashes Felix a grin and pulls. The tug was nowhere near strong enough to budge Felix, but he snorts and lets himself fall forward nonetheless, across Sylvain's lap.

Felix rolls his eyes, but there's something almost amused about his expression as he untangles his hand from Sylvain's and pushes firmly at his chest.

"Go the hell to the sleep."

He gladly lets himself be manhandled beside him, until they're just as tangled together as they have been every night for the past couple weeks.

There's so much still unsaid, still a conversation waiting to be had, he knows. And maybe he's more than a little apprehensive about it, knowing just how easy it'd be for it to end with one of them storming off another argument.

But it's so hard to focus on the thought. And, for the moment, neither of them speaks. Sylvain thinks he might doze off at one point, but Felix's voice brings him back to consciousness easily.

"It wasn't that I didn't want to see you," he says lowly, from where he's buried his face in Sylvain's shoulder, picking another conversation back up.

"Yeah?"

Felix nods. "The reason I left wasn't about you."

Sylvain reaches up to run his fingers through Felix's hair, thinking. He doesn't particularly want to touch that statement, or any of its implications. But it's not hard to guess what the reason he's referring to is.

It's not like _he_ never feels anything about having betrayed his own kingdom. His friends. His family.

"I missed you, you know?" he settles on saying, instead of tackling any of that.

"I did, too," Felix whispers against his skin, then sighs. It's a sigh that tells Sylvain he's definitely not getting out of addressing that.

He should have known, really, when Felix brought it up at all.

"It wasn't about you," Felix says again, firmer this time. "You do know that, don't you?"

_No._

"Sure." He sighs. No. That's not the answer he wants to give Felix. "You didn't exactly give me a reason."

Felix lifts a shoulder and though Sylvain's fingers still in his hair, he doesn't take them back. "Guess I should've told you," he mumbles.

Sylvain hums in answer.

"Do you think..." is what Felix says after that, and there's something uncharacteristically hesitant about his tone. "If we'd stayed with him..."

Sylvain doesn't need to ask who _him_ refers to. It's not even really a change in topic.

He shakes his head and speaks into the crown of Felix's head. "I think Edelgard and the Professor would have won the war no matter what we did. Things would've just ended up different for you and me."

He's turned that thought around in his head more than he really wants to admit to. Hell, he's lain awake thinking about it as long as he's lain awake thinking about his family and friends.

"Hm." Felix's hand on Sylvain's chest closes into a loose fist. "You're probably right. By that point..."

"Yeah."

Felix huffs, irritation creeping into his voice. "Guess it's just a shame the boar..."

He doesn't finish, just huffs out another breath, then buries his face in Sylvain's shoulder further.

There's pain in those words, but Sylvain doesn't poke at it.

Instead, he holds Felix closer and, in a much lighter tone, says, "But you've gotta know I don't regret sticking with you. I wouldn't have wanted to have to fight you."

Felix grunts and pulls away just enough to aim a disgruntled look at Sylvain. The effect's ruined somewhat by the way his hair's in disarray, falling into his face and obscuring one eye. "You didn't seriously join up just because of me, did you?" There's tension in his voice, something just on the verge of tipping over and running out of control in the same way as the last argument they had in this room.

But Sylvain can't deal with that this time. He _needs_ things to end up differently this time.

He grins, unrepentant. It's a gamble, but one he hopes will pay off. "Maybe a little?"

"_Sylvain_\--"

Sylvain laughs, a laugh he's sure Felix would be able to tell isn't entirely sincere if he weren't too busy pushing himself up onto his elbows to glare daggers at him, only kept from boiling over into true anger by the way Sylvain's laughter must be throwing him off.

"Nah," he concedes, the laughter drying up, and holds his hands up in front of him. He lets his voice stay serious this time, hoping the change is enough to get Felix to pay attention. "There were a lot of reasons for it. You're important to me, Felix, but you weren't the only reason, sorry. Between everything with Faerghus and the church and all, I just thought..." He shrugs. Honestly, at this point, he prefers not to think about it too hard. He made his choices and that's all there is to it. "I do still think we're better off without Crests deciding everything, too, but I'm sure you know that much."

Not that he ever really got to escape Gautier entirely.

Unfortunately.

Felix is still frowning, but quite a bit less intensely, so Sylvain smiles at him.

"But I _also_ didn't want to fight you and that was important, too. And I thought..." He smiles again and he hopes, more than ever, that he still remembers how to smile sincerely. "Maybe you wouldn't have wanted to either? I never did get to ask you that kind of thing after you left."

"I didn't want to fight you. You're right about that much," Felix admits. "But I didn't want to drag you into that side of the war either. You shouldn't have had to fight everyone we knew."

"You know it was my decision in the end, right? You didn't drag me into anything."

Felix grunts in response, then, "I know. And I know you thought it through, too. Despite what you try to make people believe, I know you're not an idiot."

"Hey!"

"It's a compliment. Don't interrupt me, I'm trying to tell you something."

Sylvain scoffs.

Felix lowers his head again, not quite entirely on top of Sylvain this time, but close enough. "I know it was your decision. But I just. Didn't want to drag you down with me," he says, his words muffled.

"Felix." Sylvain laughs helplessly. This again. It's surprisingly endearing. And that part's easier to focus on than whatever must have been going through Felix's mind to reach that conclusion. "Were you seriously trying to... I don't know, protect me from yourself?"

Felix grumbles something unintelligible against Sylvain's shoulder, then shakes his head.

Sylvain grins. Felix's hair might be covering most of his face, but Sylvain doesn't need to see it to know what kind of expression he must be making.

"I wouldn't put it like that," he mumbles when Sylvain continues to stay silent. "But you had things to do and." A small, frustrated sound. "You had things to do. You didn't need to ruin them following me into that."

"What? You mean Gautier?" Sylvain snorts. "It wasn't my first priority at all."

"Huh?"

Sylvain frowns. He's had a lot of time to think about this, but actually saying it out loud...?

Might as well, right?

"You called me a coward once, right? For not wanting to leave my family?"

"Sylvain."

"It's fine," he interrupts. It hurt, at the time, but it's been long enough that he doesn't want to dwell on it. "If you're going to apologize, I don't want to hear it. I'm not even mad, I'm just saying I... Maybe I was a coward, a little. But I might have..." He breathes in slowly, then out. "I gotta tell you. I would've left it behind and followed you after the war."

Felix jolts.

"Sylvain... Why me?" he asks, and he lifts his head to turn wide eyes on Sylvain.

"I don't know," he says, reaching out to push Felix's hair out of his face. Felix doesn't even twitch. "I could ask you the same thing. Why do you still put up with me after all these years? Why'd you come back? Why me?"

"Why wouldn't I? What exactly do you think I think about you?"

It leaves him strangely breathless, to have his own words turned back on him like that.

He's not even sure whether Felix realizes he's doing it either, when he scowls and grits out, "How little do you think you mean to me?"

"...I don't know," he finds himself whispering. And it's the truth. He doesn't know. Decades without a word say a lot. "You're going to have to tell me."

"_Sylvain_." With a heavy sigh, Felix sits up then, looking down at Sylvain. "Don't expect me to say this a lot," he says brusquely, but it's painfully obvious to Sylvain that it's more bravado than anything. "I know I've been shit at showing it. And I'm... _sorry_ about that." His hands hold on to the blankets in a white-knuckled grip. "But you are important to me. You're the one person alive who..." He swallows. "I least want to lose."

There's a lot Sylvain could say to that, plenty of words struggling to break free.

But they all tangle together before they can make it out, into a knot in his throat.

Has anyone ever said that to him before? He can't remember.

"Felix." He pushes himself up on one elbow, words failing him.

"I should have come back sooner," Felix says to his lap, and the curl to his lips is an uncertain thing, proof he's pushing himself to say even this much. But familiar.

"I would've liked that." He winces at the way his voice comes out, wavering at the edges.

"I'm sorry."

He's so sick of apologies at this point. "Felix... Come on, that's enough. We can't change that anymore. I could've tried harder, too."

Felix looks like he's going to protest, then pauses and settles on a nod. Then, "Sylvain," he says, twisting around to face Sylvain properly. "Kiss me?"

Sylvain blinks in surprise. That's one way to drop it, certainly, but that's not the surprising part about this.

Felix has never asked before, not with words. With gestures, with actions, an expectant look, a hand at his chest. But it's always been another of their unspoken things.

His heart pounds in his chest.

_You don't have to ask,_ he wants to say, _You don't ever have to ask._ But there's something significant about this moment, something he wants to hold close before he accidentally ruins it.

So Sylvain nods and pushes himself up into a sitting position. Tense as a bowstring, Felix watches him with wary eyes, but when he rests his hand on his cheek, Felix lets his eyes slide shut, leaning into the touch.

Then Sylvain's leaning in and it's little more than a brush of lips at first, soft pressure, his free hand making its way to Felix's waist, just barely under the blankets.

Felix's arms wrap around his neck, anchoring him in place, but, "I'm not done talking to you," he says against his mouth and Sylvain smiles and nips at his bottom lip.

"I know."

-

"Felix," he whispers later, in the dead of night, then slightly louder again when Felix only furrows his brow.

"Hm?"

There are other things that shouldn't remain unsaid.

"I was wondering. After today, how long are you--"

"I'm staying for a while," Felix interrupts, shifting to look up at the ceiling. He doesn't even sound groggy, the bastard. "If you're not about to kick me out."

Sylvain can't help the smile that breaks out over his face. "Never. You can stay as long as you want."

Felix turns his head, but not quickly enough to hide the answering smile that curls the corners of his lips.

Sylvain laughs softly to himself, then even more when Felix presses his cold feet into Sylvain's shins in retaliation, settling himself into his side again.

"We should go to Brigid," he says on impulse. "If you stay long enough."

Maybe someday, when he's older, greyer, ready to hand off Gautier to someone else, he'll see about actually making a visit to Brigid, he thought once. But maybe he doesn't need to wait that long. Maybe it's time he stopped putting off everything he wants to do.

"Brigid?" Felix frowns. "You don't like the heat."

"So you can make fun of me when I start complaining."

Felix aims a flat look at him. "_I_ don't like the heat."

"So I can make fun of you when you start complaining!"

Felix groans. "Fine. We'll go. Don't complain to me when you get sunburnt."

"Not when you'll be there to kiss it better," Sylvain says, just to see the way Felix reddens.

He groans, louder this time.

A desperate sort of fondness wells up in Sylvain's chest, as Felix buries his face in his chest, his hair fanning out behind him.

Sylvain tries to bite back a smile, then promptly gives up on it, his eyes focusing on the silver in Felix's hair among the rest of the dark strands.

This, too, feels significant.

Felix is still here. He's still alive. It's proof he's _been_ alive long enough for his hair to start turning silver.

(...Even if it is a lot less silver than Sylvain has.

Lucky bastard.)

And, he thinks, he wants to be able to stick with him, to watch him grow older, even more silver in his hair.

Maybe Felix isn't the only one who's grown softer.

That's probably what has him giving into impulse one more time, a sudden, desperate need to make one more thing clear.

It's been long enough, hasn't it?

Sylvain ducks his head and whispers in Felix's ear, the words for the emotion that has been longing to burst out of him all these years, and gets to watch the way his eyes widen in surprise when he jerks away, then soften.

He wouldn't trade the warmth in his chest then for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "last chapter this weekend," she said. you know. like a liar. like i didn't go and rewrite half this chapter, whoops.
> 
> me @ me: make sylvain cry in every chapter, you gotta  
also me @ me: no!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Anyway, that's the end of it! Thank you so much to everyone who read this and thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks. I appreciate every single one! ♥


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